


Oops!...I Did It Again

by Titans_R_Us



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Traits, Animal Transformation, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Circe is a female dog, Couch Cuddles, Dick can give as many octopus hugs as he likes now, Dick gets Tentacles, Dick strikes fear in the hearts of both family and foe, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Insecurity, Maybe Dick/Tim but I can't tell, Protective Dick Grayson, Puns & Word Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 05:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14993897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titans_R_Us/pseuds/Titans_R_Us
Summary: This isn’t Dick’s first time around the block and it’s definitely not the first time he’s been turned into an animal.He slaps the hag hard with one of his new appendages, making sure he gets a sucker on to strip the hair wherever it lands like a new wax job.Hope you weren’t fond of that eyebrow, lady.





	Oops!...I Did It Again

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes with my favorite batfamily stories I'd read the phrase, "Octopus Mode Activated" where Dick gives these great hugs that don't stop until he says so. So I thought it would be fun to write a fic where Dick is actually turned into an octopus and gains tentacles for a while. 
> 
> Of course what's the first thing he wants to do with his new additions? Hug his family to death. :D 
> 
> Enjoy the story!

This isn’t Dick’s first time around the block.

It’s not the first time his team’s been horribly outmatched.

Not the first time fighting magic users that make up the rules as they go _._

Or having those same magical douchebags cheat and break each one.

And it’s definitely not the first time he’s been turned into an _animal_.

He slaps the hag hard with one of his new appendages, making sure he gets a sucker on to strip the hair wherever it lands like a new wax job.

Hope you weren’t fond of that eyebrow, lady.  

_“You, filthy slimy creature, how dare you—”_

Well excuse you, Circe. If you didn’t want to be drenched with ink, then don’t give him the ability to produce it. But hey at least he’s not an inanimate object _like a chair_ this time. And he has more than enough body parts to hit, jab and smack with so Dick can work it.

If there’s anything Bats can patent as a superpower, it’s their ability to adapt _or be extremely flexible_ in Dick’s case.  

“GET OFF ME YOU DISGUSTING CRETIN!”

The vigilante calculates. Hangs on with all limbs to the woman’s torso as she tries to shake him off like a greasy handbag.  He’s getting nauseous, dammit. Dick distracts her with a sharp bite while scanning the room for his teammates.

He wants to cry a bit since this is _not_ the Teen Titans reunion Dick had planned. But hey, it’s better than when their version of senior prom was _wrecked_ by aliens.  Sorry Kory, no one likes aliens.

Raven, uncreatively now a _crow,_ is cradled in BB’s arms as he growls through the sharpest teeth he can form.  The witch struck Raven hard on her last swoop. And yeah, Circe’s curses had no effect on Garth, but the iron metal cage she summoned _did_.  A handsome, metallic buck crashes against side of the cage door.  All Cyborg needs is a weak point to get them out. Cyborg always mentioned going ‘stag’ to clubs and dances before, but he never thought to use the term in this category. Though he admits the nine-point rack on his head is _righteous_. Memo to him, hack feeds in Circe’s future cell and set to ‘ _Bambi_.’

Dick sprays the hag in the eye when Circe raises a power-filled hand. _Can’t aim if you can’t see._ She shrieks, giving Wally, who’s an awesome bunny rabbit by the way _,_ the opportunity he needs to zoom behind her legs to trip her.

The crash she makes when she falls is music to his— _suck_ , do octopuses even have ears? Still, he’s insanely grateful when the cavalry appears with blinding flashes and a puff of smoke.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, let the show begin!” Wearing rocking fishnets, ‘cause Dick appreciates a good set of legs like the next guy, Zatanna is ready _to kick magical ass._

_“Mrofsnart!”_ The bars of the cage go limp as noodles and BB roars, crashing through them.  Dick drops to the floor immediately before their new teammate waves her wand again. _Crash_. The gesture sends Circe’s halfway across the room. Dick squirms across the floor towards his former crew.

“ _You!”_ The Greek enchantress cries, her face scratched up and she’s limping slightly. Circular hickeys that are gonna be the best fat bruises, it’s like a mark of pride, the wickedest hickeys he has ever left on a lady, not that Circe is a lady, but still...

Score.  

“Circe, really?” Zatanna drawls as Dick wiggles his best out of the way of the fight. Getting caught in the radius of a magic blast is no fun.  Kory _, oh so there’s Kory_ , Dick knew she went to get help somewhere, gathers his mess of tentacles in her arms gently and flies them to check on the others. “If you’re so fond of animals, why don’t we for my next trick—”

Sparks fly. A giant gloved hand appears to grip Circe tightly around the waist. The enchantress struggles spraying bursts of light, but none reach her targets below for the hand lifts her higher and higher.

“—Let’s turn a _witch_ ,“ Zatanna’s voice goes otherworldly, “into a _hcitb.”_

A glow overtakes the hand and its victim above, it gets brighter, whiter until Dick wishes there were sunglasses to cover his squishy face. _Sad_ , he should have brought popcorn; Zatanna’s shows are the best.

There is a loud **pop** ; the hand slow descends to rest before them. Zatanna smirks presenting the reveal and Dick claps with most of his new arms. There, right there, nestled in the palm of the glove is a confused _female dog._

Savage. Beautiful and savage, Zatanna.

She clips a collar on the mutt and spirits Circe away. Then the mage turns to the team and cracks her gloves. “Now let’s see what I can do about you guys.”

It’s not much. Well sorta.

In the tower that is now BB and Raven’s domain, Zatanna tries every incantation under the nine realms.  Each one twists the curse over the team with limited success. Dick’s bones feel like mush, not meant to expand and condense like that in such a short time.  But Zatanna _does_ turn them back to an extent.

They’re humanoid, _Thank Gotham,_ with all normal body systems in place, but each team member kept an addition.  Raven sports a pair of midnight wings. Wally pulls at his floppy ears repeatedly as if he could tear them off. Cyborg smacks an antler against the wall again and sighs resigned. Dick doesn’t know what their deal is. His condition wins out of the four.

One, he’s kept all his tentacles. They start in two parallel rows at the base of his spine. Two _, they’ve grown._ They used to be about the uniform width of his thumb.  Now each tentacle is as thick as a calf or bicep. Still royal blue, they curl in agitation at the present circumstance. _Which is lame,_ since each of his emotions are going to bleed through. Dick takes a deep breath and attempts to control the jerky spasms

“That’s the best I can do for now. My magic can only do so much against Circe’s. The good news is that the rest of this will fade in a week, I’m so sorry Nightwing,” Zatanna says squeezing her top hat between her fingers apologetically.

“It’s okay, Zatanna. _BB leave Raven’s feathers alone or you’re gonna get hit.”_  There is a solid whap to Dick’s left and he fights a small smirk at the way BB squawks painfully.  “We can handle a week no problem.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wally groans embarrassed. “The rest of the speedsters are going to _pun_ me alive.”

Cyborg crosses his arms, “Either it’s punned here or punned out there.  Choose your tormentors wisely.”

“Aaaaand with that I’m out. N, raincheck on reunion?”

“Raincheck on reunion.” Dick smiles at his old team fondly, “For now, take it easy until the transformation wears off.”

He makes small talk with Kory and thanks Zatanna as the former Titans start to scatter. Laughs when BB didn’t learn his lesson the first time, getting way too mesmerized by Raven’s plumage.

That’s when it hits him.  What exactly he could do with his new appendages…

Various teammates flinch at the way his expression cracks, splitting his face in terrifying **glee**.

_Oh, he needs to get home right now._

* * *

“When you said this was an _emergency_ I assumed we were gathering for something a little more serious, Dick.” Bruce states wryly at his first Robin. He doesn’t tense in the strange hold around his ribs; Dick will release him once his emotional needs are met. Hopefully.

“But it _is_ an emergency,” Dick cheerfully pets Tim’s and Damian’s snarling heads. He has them pressed up together tight against his chest. “How else am I able to test my theory?”

_“By different means of data collection.”_ Tim fumes. He tries to get an inch of space when a tentacle shoves him forward, destroying any progress made.   

“What theory? The theory of how long it will take me to rip out Drake’s throat?” Damian swore angrily into said throat.  He swears that if he could just reach his knife that this annoyance would be done and over with.

“ _Nooooooo_ , it’s that if I can hug everyone at the same time like this.”

Alfred fixes his gloves and pats the lone tendril lightly curled around the elbow. “And what conclusion did you come to Master Richard?”

_“That I’m missing Jason.”_

* * *

 “Hey, hey Damian.” From the ring set, Dick calls to Damian below, “How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?”

Tim groans painfully from down the hall out of sight. “Dick. _Please, no._ ”

“What on earth are you prattling on about?” Damian questions with a sneer, “Octopi don’t have the nerves to be able to—“

“Ten tickles.” The grin is unholy, bordering on satanic _. "Ten. Ten tickles."_

“Ten tickles?” Damian repeats absolutely bewildered, “How could ten—“

The words halt; Dick gleefully sways from the rings, oh that is a lovely shade of violet.  He looks like an extremely angry fresh plum. “Grayson, you wretched _FIENDISH_ —“

The language switches to Arabic rapidly; probably giving him the worst earful that Alfred would soak his mouth with dish soap for.

“I love you too, buddy.” Dick coos at him. “I love you thiiiiiis much.”

He spreads his tentacles as wide as he can…and descends like an ungodly nightmare.

There is no hope of escape.

“UNHAND ME NOW, GRAYSON.”

“Sure.” He waves his hands nice and free from the fleshy cocoon Damian squirms in. “Look Dami, no hands!”

_“I mean release me, you imbecile.”_ A poisonous hiss emits from this squishy hold.  

Dick taps a finger to his chin, eying the ceiling in contemplation, “Okay, I’ll let you go. _In five minutes.”_

Then there’s nothing Damian can do but snarl and struggle himself into exhaustion. It’s really cute. Especially when Dick knows that Damian has at least four knives on his person and not one of them makes an appearance. _Adorable_.

Oh, and it’s not five minutes.

He lied.

* * *

“It’s day three,” Tim reports monotone, as if stating facts for a file on the bat computer, “And still there is no relief in sight. All outside assistance has proved useless.”

“You’re taking this way too seriously, Timmers.” Dick changes channels on the big screen in front of the couch with one hand on the remote. The other ruffles Tim’s hair into a fluffy mess as the Star Trek theme song comes on and Tim can feel his resolve start to weaken. Damn him. And damn those tentacles that gently press him little tighter into Dick’s side.  

“Provisions have been replenished frequently, breaks established so I can relieve myself when necessary, _but the Batman refuses responding to any call for aid_. I am betrayed. My eyes definitely feel the effects of too much screen time.”

A snort from a yard or two at the couch’s left. “Who had to be literally ripped away from his laptop since he doesn’t understand what the word _grounded_ means? Or that all his internet privileges are currently banned for a week?” B passes behind the two, letting a palm rub over their heads. Tim froths at the mouth at how Dick lets the Bat go unscathed.

“I’m nineteen, B. You can’t ground me, I’m a legal adult. _I do what I want.”_ It was laughable that Bruce thought he could take away _his_ internet access, who does he think he is? Plus to give Dick the opening, the justification to chain him to the sofa for a ridiculous impromptu TV marathon? For shame B, _for shame._

A laugh.The taunting thing echos down the hall. “Have fun, Boys.”

At least there is one bleak light in all this hopelessness, Tim saved Damian. He had created enough of a diversion for the younger Robin to escape. True he knows their relationship isn’t the best, but Tim would brush all animosity aside in a moment for at least one of them to retain their personal bubble. He hopes the young teen will remember his sacrifice in the future fondly…

“I am sorry…Drake.” The boy in question stands a far off, giving the couch a wide radius of six to seven feet. It’s rather contrite for the assassin. “I cannot—”

“It’s okay, Damian, I understand.”

“Waaaaay too serious.” Next to him there’s a hard crunch of Dick snacking on popcorn. The monster tucks the bowl more firmly between them. “Now be quiet and eat your popcorn, Timmy.”

* * *

Over the comm is a small sound, a barely contained wheeze, and it stops Dick in his tracks on patrol instantly. _He knows that sound._ Knows it from countless hours of training a child assassin into a mildly-helpful-when-he’s-in-the mood vigilante.  Knows it from the moments when a 10-year-old boy has had too much and tries to hide the pain. Because in the Al Ghul’s world showing pain…means showing weakness.

“Robin, report for me buddy.”

“What….is it, Nightwing?”

“Are you okay? You don’t sound so good.”

“I’m perfectly fine.” But the phrase seems punched out one word at a time.  Dick turns and thinks of Damian’s patrol route.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, **mister**. _Where are you?”_

“I have come across the Riddler attempting to set up what he considers a clever pun.  When I informed him of the fault of his ignorance, I believe he perhaps took…offense. In addition, I may have miscalculated his amount of goons. “

“That doesn’t tell me where you are, Robin.”

A long suffering sigh.  “Third block from Eastwood.” Dick shifts his weight and flies.

The thing about the Riddler is he an egotist. He actually _wants_ people to solve his tricks and dangerous riddles. Dick isn’t having much fun though.

He makes sure the Riddler stops having it too.

Particularly when he finally finds the mass of men around _his Robin,_ Damian limping slightly as he holds his side tenderly. Now could Dami still take them? Sure. But the wince on that kid’s face makes Nightwing see red.

“Hey, so I thought long and hard since you guys like riddles so much, right? And I have the perfect one for you...why does no one mess with an octopus or his family?” Dick darkly growls, alerting the throng of his presence and that it is a very unhappy one. They all step back when a mess of tentacles unfurls and thrashes. Even the Riddler gasps, the witty quip not even falling from his lips when Dick strides into the fray with a silhouette that will bring nightmares in the newly imprisoned for months. _“Because they’re well-armed.”_

A couple hours later Dami complains that now he shall lack even the mild entertainment these meaty punching bags provide. That it isn’t fair. That now even the lowest, weakest, dumbest scum will flee from the sight of his face _not_ because of his own fighting prowess and skill but because Grayson has clearly overreacted...again.

Dick just shushes him and pushes Damian back down the gurney more firmly as Alfred checks his leg. Bruce looms from the side as he gently wipes at a cut on his youngest’s forehead.

They are ignoring him. How inconceivable. Therefore the only proper response Damian can muster is to complain louder.

It gets him four more tentacles and the type of tight expression that only means one thing...he’s not going anywhere.

Curses.

* * *

“Dick.” Tim tries to keep his patience, he really does. But he told Dick could sit with him, not distract the hell out of him. “Dick, _stop_.”

“Hmmmm?” Dick lifts the laptop out of Tim’s reach; it’s easy with his new range, and it makes a soft click as he sets it high on the bookcase next to the bed.

“You said those case files need to be done tonight.”

“Sure they do.” Dick humors him. Carefully he wraps a tentacle around the former Robin’s wrist. The contrast of blue on that pale skin is very _very_ nice. He turns it over and starts petting the pretty veins on the underside with a finger. The tentacle tightens when Tim jerks and tries to pull away. _Tries_ being the keyword.

Tim swallows. Dick _had_ been just resting besides him on the bed, only his leg next to his pressing in a subtle warmth. He realizes that somehow, gradually over the last fifteen minutes, he’s now surrounded by a nest of appendages that slide and writhe. One of them curls around his knee. Another shifts right under him, seating him in a loose coil.

He reasons, he begs, _“Dick._ It’s important. Bruce asked me to— _"_

“To what? Work on these until you pass out?” Dick drawls out the words, almost predatorily, “Now why I do I doubt that? Timmy, it’s time you took a break.”

He smiles and it sends shivers down Tim’s spine. He’s not sure if they’re the good or bad ones. _Shit_.

“You look so tense, Pretty Bird...let me help you _unwind_.”

* * *

Jason doesn’t know who ratted him out.

Who told Dick he’s skulking crime alley tonight but he bets his left nut that t’was Babybird and _that little shit’s gonna pay._ Like honest dose of karma and divine _comeuppance_. Or at least he’s gonna shoot Tim with a few nice tranquilizers to see how _he_ likes being thrown under the Batmobile.

Fuck Tim. He’s never been so scared in his life.

_Dick is whistling for heaven and hell’s sake._ The man’s _gaining_ on him and sure Babybird gave him the deets that Dick’s practically an Eldritch abomination, but that doesn’t stop him from swearing up a storm when somehow Dick snatches him in mid-air from a grappling gun attempt. His hips and legs secured as the monster dangles him upside down from the corner of a five story apartment complex.

“I caught you.” The Dickbag sing-songs, all toothy like a fucking shark.

“Lemme go.”

“Aww, come on doesn’t this bring back memories? You always loved rooftop tag.”

“No I didn’t. Look you _Lovecraft reject,_ lemme go, turn around and go mess with someone _not_ packing heat.”

“Love…craft?” Dick puts a hand coyly to his chest, “Why yes, I’m excellent in the craft of loving.”

_“You illiterate fuck.”_ Jason rages. Yeah, Tim just got back on his hit-list, Babybird is going down. Right after he escapes this horrific nightmare.

"Oh, Jay." Smack. There are suckers in his hair now and Jason snarls futilely. "We're going to have so much _fun."_

* * *

“You tossed me to the _kraken_.” Jason snarled gripping Tim’s collar.

_“Shut up.”_ Tim hisses back in his face. “You were at his mercy for like _what_? Thirty min—

**“Hours.”** Jason shakes the bird roughly pulling Tim almost off his toes. “He had me for hours. Cooin’ at me and pettin’ my hair as he _regaled_ me about every mundane shitty event in our shitty, _happy_ family.”

“Ha. _Pathetic_ . I’ve been here since the beginning. I’ve suffered for _days_. I needed a sabbatical you asshole.” Tim spits at him before ripping himself out of Jason’s grip.

“That wasn’t cool Babybird. Ya sold. me. out.”

“Worth it, and you don’t lie, you would do the same thing in a _millisecond_.”

“I’d sell ya to Hell for one cornchip. One.” Jason folds his arms over his chest. “But shelvin’ painful revenge for later, how can we keep the sucker _octopied_?”

Tim looks at him with one eyebrow raised because really? There is only one option here. “There only one person who can outmatch Dick, and it sure isn’t you, me or Bruce…”

“Yeah,” Jason sighs, “Thought so.”

So they cheat. They use Alfred.

"Do not concern yourselves, young Sirs. I have plenty for Master Dick to accomplish while he is so _handy_." His eyes crinkle with a pleased expression that make the young masters uncomfortable masters. “Yet there will be a...price for my assistance.”

The plan is simple, diabolical but it works. Codename: Operation ‘Give Alfred A Break’ or simply put by the butler as ‘Spring Cleaning.’ Mind you, Alfred always manages to keep the estate in tip-top shape, but let’s be honest he’s only one guy. There are tasks that require more manpower and hiring other companies to come clean the batcave is most certainly _out_. Therefore no one escapes the extra chores. No one.

“Do you boys _always_ have to do this when I clean?” Bruce sighs in complete exasperation. He’s been doing ‘chores’ every once in a while since he was ten, but that doesn’t stop his sons from losing it when Alfred hands him a broom.

“Yes.” Tim says, snapping another picture on his phone. _No wait, make that twenty, this filter is amazing._ In fact the scene is Instagram gold, he could label it as, ‘Billionaires with brooms.’ Or it could be used as currency in the superhero community. He needs a favor, _he will get that favor._

“Tim, I know you’re excited, but if you don’t cut it out and start on your own chores, Alfred is just going to add more.” Bruce turns, moving the large office chair out of the way so he can sweep under the Batcomputer.

_“I don’t care.”_ The camera shutter goes crazy in the background. Tim must have found a new angle.

Bruce tries with his other spawn, “That goes for you too, Jason. Alfred’s been hunting for someone slacking off to put on bathroom duty, are you sure want to volunteer for that?”

From the steps, Jason is mindlessly gleeful. “Don’t mind at all, unlike _some_ peeps, I ain’t afraid of gettin’ my hands _dirty_. Comes from being from the gutter see?”

He sits near the top, his elbow resting on his knee so he can cup his chin and _watch_. Bruce grumbles as he clumsily makes a small pile of debris and bends over with the dustpan. Yet the Bat is unable to sweep the whole pile in the first go, or the second. Shit, this is better than any of the Spanish telenovelas Jason’s addicted to.

“To be frank, I find your behavior is absolutely atrocious. Father has always strived to show you cretins the value of hard work. Why is it then such a spectacle for him to provide an example of menial labor?”

“Thank you Damian.” The pointed praise has the youngest puffing out his chest in pride. “How’s grooming Batcow going?”

Unlike the rest, Damian actually has a purpose being in the Batcave since the pen where Batcow resides is in one of the side alcoves. It’s strange the animal prefers the cave to the manor grounds, but Bruce doesn’t question it at his point because, sure why not? It has a bat symbol blatantly stamped over its face, it wants to crave the dark? Be his guest.

His youngest seems to be just be in the process of dumping out a bucket of dirty water. However the detective in Bruce notes that the sink is in the opposite direction, _away from the batcomputer._

Damian sniffs, going for nonchalance. “It is going very well, Father. My dear Batcow’s coat will be without blemish or parasite when I am finished with her.”

“I’m sure you’ll do a great job.” Bruce says wryly, tapping the dustpan against the side of the trash so the remains falls in. He ignores the wild round of applause the action gets him.  

There’s an exaggerated sniff, “That was beautiful, B. You did so well.”

“Baby Bird's right,” Jason’s voice has a hitch in it, “Twas’ as breathtakin’ as poetry.”

“Masters Timothy and Jason, _there you are._ Why, I have been looking for you everywhere.” The two aforementioned flinch hard. They dramatically turn to the shadowed silhouette at the top of the stairs, Unfortunately, Jason is in Alfred’s range and the man reaches to put one hand on his charge’s shoulder. He cannot escape. Once again, no one escapes from extra chores. No one. “Come here. Do you perhaps require my assistance to get started?”

‘N-No.” Tim stammers, tucking his camera away. He crawls up the steps two at a time on his hands to meet his fate. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Damian shuffling away like the sneaky ninja brat he is. He probably won’t even get in trouble, _how is that even fair?_

“Then, Master Timothy your task remains in the laundry room. I’ve organized all articles into three piles; casual, formal and items used for our more...nightly activities. Between loads you may fold linens and assist me with the sheets on the beds.” Tim pales and darts between Alfred and the door to get started.

At Jason’s muffled sniggers, the butler continues. “As for you Mister Todd,” Jason freezes, the use of his last name means business, “Outside I’ve put you on gutters since you’re most _fond_ of them and after you are done with all the ones on the roof you will start on lawn care with weeding the flower beds.”

“But I _hate_ weedin’!” And Damian can shove over. Jason, in his early twenties or no, can whine with the best of them.

“So you have informed me many times in your youth.” Alfred’s eyes crinkle as they close in pleasant warning, “Yet I believe despite your protests, you will accept the consequence for your inactivity. Now if you are done gawking at Master Bruce, shall we begin?”

Jason lurches upright like a man sent to his grave...again. “Still worth it.”

“We shall see. After all, the manor gardens are impressive and many.” He lead his wayward vigilante by the shoulders away from the cave, perhaps escorting him to his station will be efficient? Behind them, Alfred adds, “And Master Bruce, please do remember to mop the guano from the platform where the Batmobile resides.”

Jason swears, _“Fuck, I gotta see that.”_ He twists violently in the butler's grip but to no avail; he can’t rip himself away from those white gloves. He wants, _needs_ to watch B clean up bat poop, please, please– _come on you sadistic British cracker._

“I’m afraid not,” Their voices trail off as they move down the hall, slowly fading from Bruce’s hearing, “If you continue in this manner however, I shall add trimming the hedges to your list as well.”

_“Goddammit.”_

Alfred final note ends with, “It is so _good_ to have some young help around again.”

Bruce gives a wry smile and shakes his head. No one can pull one on over the ‘original’ Bat. Bruce had to learn from somewhere right? Lucky for him, he had the best caretaker a budding future vigilante could ever want. And fortunately he had the same man’s help when he had heroes of his own to raise...like this one.

“I know you’re there, Dick.” he says.

There is a chuckle above him, a swoosh as a tentacle swings past, brushing the Bruce’s hair as the older man ducks to pull the trash liner out to tie it off. “Awwwww, and how you did you figure that out, Detective?”  

“Who raised you? I always check the ceilings; _the last place people look is up._ It’s a rule you taught me when you started living here. I had to glance up to every time I entered a room if I didn’t you would pout and think I was ignoring you.”

Dick is pouting now, “Did you know I was here the entire time?”

“Yes.” _No_ , but Bruce will take every chance to pretend that he’s omniscient. He needs every edge he can fake to get the drop on his kids. He places the broom to the side before turning to get the mop and bucket. Above him, like an octopus moving across the ocean floor, Dick crawls from one stalactite to the other, using his new appendages as anchors. The motion is fluid, making no sound. Bruce is proud. “Have you already finished your chores?”

Dick smirks and rattles off with his fingers, “Of course!  I’ve cleaned the rafters, dusted the chandeliers, wiped the skylights, changed every single light bulb, gotten the tops of all fans and light fixtures, fixed the wiring placement that winds across the ceiling of the cave and cleaned the inside and outside of every window in the manor. Really, how could I _not_ finish when Alfred has been giving me the same task list since I was Robin?”

“He did used to say you couldn’t patrol unless you finished your weekend chores.” Bruce recalls absentmindedly, carrying the mop bucket to the sink Damian was _supposed_ to have gone to.

“And did I miss a single patrol?” His oldest swoops down to perch on the counter by the sink.

Bruce smiles. “When you were on another ‘break’ with Barbara? Yes.”

“Those times didn’t count! The broken heart needs time to heal!”

“As did your nose, if I remember right.”

_“Hey, that was one time!”_

The two share a smile as the soapy water fills the bucket to the brim. Bruce leans for the mop and _helpfully Dick moves it away from his fingers._ “Here, let me get that for you.” Picking up the tool, he slides off the counter and starts for the platform.

“You just want to watch me clean up Batpoop.” Bruce mutter.

“I do, Bruce. _I really do._ Do you need me to carry the bucket too?” Bruce just rolls his eyes and shakes his head at the offer. In less than a minute, they’re set up with Bruce with mop in hand while Dick spawls out on top of the batmobile. The man on his stomach as his tentacles drape over the sides of the car.

“You’ve seen me do it before.” He points out. There is a wet slap as the mop smacks the ground.

“I have. I have seen it many, _many_ enjoyable times, and it never gets old.” Dick rests his head on his arms and for a while nothing more is said. The silence is comfortable company, the wet streaks making patterns on the stone floor as Bruce cleans. The mop going back and forth. Back and forth. It hypnotizes Dick as the water in the bucket gradually gets grimier and grimier. Finally, “Bruce?”

“Hmmm?”

“Want to tell me the reason for the spontaneous ‘Spring Cleaning?’

Bruce hums. “I think you already know the reason for that. I did pound deductive skills into the thick skulls of you boys.”

Dick scowls, “Tell me anyway? It’s nice to hear it said out loud sometimes. Plus whatever happened to using each other as a sounding board? Sometimes your first conclusion isn’t always the only or best conclusion, didn’t you hammer that lesson into our brain too?”

Bruce’s lips twitch, “I did, didn’t I?”

“Bruuuuuce.”  Dick whines.

“You’re a grown man Dick, stop that.” _But Bruce complies because he is weak._ Always has been for his sons, “Well, you’re not wrong, there could be more than one purpose to this little event.”

Dick swings his tentacles back and forth as if they’re legs, just like he did when he was a child. He listens as Bruce rattles off the possibilities, “It could be _some_ people were trying to divert your _intense_ attention and energy away from them. That maybe by some miracle labor could tire you out.”

Dick giggles in the most wicked way. Oh, he knows _exactly_ who Bruce is talking about. Too bad at the end of the day they’ll be most exhausted. All he needs to do is be in the right place at the right time for Tim and Jason to collapse completely _wasted_ into Dick’s loving clutches. Insert evil cackling here.

“It could also be ruse to get your mind off of other things.” Dick’s limbs halt their swaying. Bruce continues. ”Cleaning...clears the head, it’s mindless work. Simple. Not easy, but simple. It’s nice to have a task that doesn’t have any morality gray areas to worry about. Or to work on a job that doesn’t fight back.”  

“I think you’re forgetting the state of the refrigerator.” Dick mumbles.

“Ours? Or the one in your apartment, son?”

“Ha, ha. Laugh it up.” Bruce takes the suggestion to heart, throwing back his head to do so. Dick keeps forgetting how nice that sound is. He really does have a nice, deep laugh, it’s the kind that feels like a reward when you hear it. “And what does Alfred think I have to get my mind off of?”

“Well, that would lead to our third conclusion and possibility, if numbers one and two didn’t pan out.” Bruce sets the mop and bucket to the side, the floor is done anyway, and leans against the side of the car arms across his chest. He looks at Dick intently. “Do we need to talk?”

Dick’s breathing stutters. His eyes squeezing tight together at the obvious tell.

“Yeah, I thought so.” Somethings never change. Bruce’s hand still feels so big on his head, giving him what he needs. Melting away the ‘what-if’s’, insecurities whether it be from safety lines if the grappling gun broke or missed to...personal stuff. The weight comforts Dick, and the movement of fingers threading through his hair, Bruce used to try to flatten his hair spikes, has the former Robin spilling everything.

“It’s been eleven days since we talked to Zatanna. That’s more than a week, Bruce.”

“I know. And?”

On the windshield tentacles restlessly start. Bruce observes the way they angrily coil and _writhe_. As if to encourage his son, he brings up his other arm to the mass. The limbs clench around the offering wrapping several times over elbow and bicep. Bruce does nothing to escape but scoots a foot closer to his son, using his own arm as an anchor to pull him across the car roof so that Dick’s head can rest neatly on his shoulder.

“What if I don’t turn back?” He whispers.

“Then we adapt. That’s what we always do.”

_“Is that all you have to say–”_

Bruce lightly smacks the head in the crook of his neck, “No. I wasn’t done yet. We’ll adapt. Just like when Damian came back to the dead with superpowers. Clark was insufferable for almost over a _month_. Just because he got to give me advice and it was mostly all from his mother too. Who else knew how to handle rising someone with the super strength and flying?  Do you remember when I had to call you in so Damian would stop bullying Tim?”

Dick snorts wetly in Bruce’s shirt, “He kept picking up Tim and holding him above his head for hours. Timmy hated that. The two would argue for hours, hovering over the manor and Timmy couldn’t leave until Dami had his fun. Then he’d barely put him back down after calling him ‘pathetic for being suppressed,’ only to pick him up back up again when Tim said ‘preteen metas don’t count.”

“Or we will adjust the same way we found out Tim was missing his spleen.”

Dick growls. The mood changing rapidly. The fact that Timmy, _his dear sweet little Timmy,_ tried to cover that up still gets under his skin. His tentacles thrash in Bruce’s grip. The idiot just pretended he wasn’t missing a vital body part and no one had any idea until Tim accidentally took a winter swim in Gotham harbor. Sepsis is a terrible excuse for that little revelation to come out.

“Now we have Alfred doing regular checkups and everytime an epidemic breaks out in Gotham?”

“Baby Bird’s on comms, no questions asked.” Dick finishes. As protocol they even bring Oracle in on it, Barbara sitting on the young man if Tim fights them on it.

“Right and then there’s Jason and the pit–” Bruce breaks off. The pause between them stretching on flashes of the past. The scars littering Tim’s throat, the words he snarled at Bruce with poisonous green eyes showing him the body count, the way nothing Dick could say or do could fix the madness beating through Jason’s veins. It had...taken a long time to get to this point, to get Jason back in the manor, back in their lives again. They had adapted. It is what they do.

“I’m just–” Bruce breaks off, hunting for the right word, “ _–relieved_. Relieved that your new appendages aren’t harmful. _That they don’t cause any pain, Dick.”_

Dick takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. Bruce...isn’t wrong.

“That’s what really matters to me. If you somehow change back tomorrow fine, if you don’t _then we will still be fine._ We’ll make adjustments, find ways to work the change into our lives, we’ll make a plan.”

“You always like being the man with the plan.” Dick lifts his face out of Bruce’s shirt to look him in the eyes.

“And the more people adding to it, the better.” Bruce ruffles his hair and steps away from the car, “The family that plans together _bans_ together.”

Dick huffs, then lunges up to the ceiling. He’s better. Que sera sera or whatever, he’ll handle, _no they’ll handle_ whatever comes next. He’s more surprised he’s stewed on the issue this long. “I swear it’s not fair, the other kids don’t believe me when I say you’re _cheesier_ than me.”

“What can I say? The biggest secret in the family is that our sense of humor is _Itenticle.”_

_“Ohhhhhh, I’m keeping that one.”_

With the spring is back in his leap. Dick leaves Bruce to jump across the ceiling, the dark thoughts fading from the front of his mind as he makes _new_ plots. His reign of terror isn’t done yet after all. Surely Alfred wouldn’t berate him too much for sporadically attacking the others, right?  If the work gets done in one way or anything, does it matter if he distracts with a hug or eight?

Think of an Alfred, and he will appear.

“Master Richard.” Alfred warmly greets from just outside the opening in the clock. “Did you have a good discussion with Master Bruce?”

“Yes I did,” Dick cheerfully feints to the right, but Alfred blocks him with a single hand up.

“I am pleased to hear that it was enlightening. Would you mind being assigned one last chore of the day?”

Dick sulks at the idea of his plans being thwarted, but schools his expression for Alfred, “Sure, how can I help?”

“Lunch has been prepared. Would you terribly mind, _ahem_ , collecting your siblings for me?”

The way Dick lights up is ungodly and magically. “Sure Alfred, _I’d be delighted to!”_

Alfred just watches the blue mass race towards it’s first target. The creature diving around the first corner and the butler shakes his head with a slight quirk of the lips and moves towards the kitchen.

There is a terrified _scream_.

Ah, Alfred reflects, that must be Master Timothy. Well. Though he did promise to provide aid to the boys’ little scheme of keeping Dick _octopied,_ he never specified for how long. No matter, it is a important distinction he trusts they’ll learn over time.

Alfred begins the process of setting the table, barely glancing up to the window when an agonized shout comes from outside.

After all it is his duty that _all_ family members are happy and accounted for.

Including one monstrous Richard Grayson.

* * *

Tim is _this_ close from throwing himself at Zatanna’s high heels and sobbing in gratitude. “Really, we can’t thank you enough for your help.” Jason though has no such inhibitions. On his knees Red Hood repeatedly bows to the woman like a slave honoring its god.

She smiles gracefully. “I’m glad I was in the neighbourhood to check on you boys. Though really did you need my help at all? Dick probably would have changed back eventually. The magic was receding, even if it was slower than usual, it would have take a day or two more at most.”

“A day or two too damn many.” Jason lifts his head, “What do you want fer tryin’ again? You want someone hurt, someone dead? _I could do that.”_

Somewhere besides them there is a huff, “There is no reason for these hysterics. Grayson’s behavior was not that bad, just mildly exaggerated from his normal conduct. Enduring that and the effects of his transformation was barely a trial.”

“Those are brave words, Dami,” Tim hisses at the robin, “Want to repeat that a little louder? _So the man in question can hear?”_

All three Bats twist towards the group by the Batcomputer. Bruce and Dick chat over an image, the younger pointing at something and then giving his own hand a pout as if expecting....a different limb.

Damian coughs to clear his throat, “Yet all in all, we must thank you for your services. It is best that Grayson is now returned to his former self.”

Zatanna just plants her hands on her hips and laughs. “Anytime boys, let’s just hope you won’t need my ‘services’ anytime soon.”

Tim prays those words aren’t a jinx.

* * *

They were. They were _so_ a jinx.

“I hate everything.”

“I know, Timmy. I know.” Dick tucks another feather in place. Honestly, overall he thinks the combination of white, gray, and black actually suits Tim super well.

_“I hate you._ This is all because of you.” Tim snarls vehemently.

“Now come on, how is that even fair?”

“Circe came for _you_. Circe out of everyone she’s dealt with, out of everyone that’s ever taken her down a peg, remembered _you_. And who was in Gotham? Oh yeah, _you_. So now we’re all like this and it’s all–”

“You know if you keep stressing out, I think you might molt.” Blue limbs carefully soothe ruffled wings, as they flare out with emotion.

_“–your fault!”_ Tim finishes high pitched and moves his shoulder in effort to tug his new additions away from Dick’s grip. Yet, one tentacle firmly wraps under his arm to rest on top of his collarbone, preventing escape. “Would you stop touching them! If you want to pet someone, pet Jason! He’s a dog.”

“Nah, I’m a _wolf!”_ From the gurney in the medical bay, Jason lifts his arm when prompted by Alfred. He had been...the most aggressive after the transformation was complete. Circe flung him into a fence, but he hadn’t stopped lunging for her until he got a good bite in. But now, Alfred was concerned over a cut on his leg. This was Gotham after all, and what alley _doesn’t_ have broken glass?

“Just watch. **_Owooooo.”_ ** The howl echoes throughout the cave and cuts out abruptly from a single glance from Alfred. The butler does not approve of loud noises straight in his ear, young master. Still Jason grins and manages pant without his tongue out, “See, now what dog can do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe every mangy mutt in Gotham?” To prove Tim’s point, Titus excitedly responds to the call. Barking up and down, the dog pads across the platform to run around the bed, whining while doing his best to lick Jason’s face. The Hood first jerks back in surprise but there’s a look on his face, like someone that just won the lottery. He brings down his hands down to give the fellow furball the love.

“Awwwww yer just jealous, what you ain’t gonna sing? Does that mean y’ll get me a diamond ring?”

There’s a snicker behind him, but Tim’s elbows are sharp. “How about I get you a knuckle sandwich instead.”

“Then get in the kitchen, that’s where the food’s made. Wait, nevermind, Alfred _banned_ ya from there.”

_“I’ll end you.”_

“Tim, I love you very much, but sometimes violence _isn’t_ the answer.”

“Wanna bet Dick?” He knocks Dick away, spreading his wings to the max abruptly. Unfortunately the action causes his entire body to tilt to the side, still not used to the new weight on his back. Tim lurches to the side with a squawk, the ground coming to meet his face fast. Luckily his captor does have the advantage of having more arms than two, so he’s caught...only to be deposited straight back into Dick’s lap.

It’s an embarrassing moment highlighted by Jason’s woofs and howling laughter.

“Why can’t you pick on Demon spawn?” Tim whines. The hold is now much more secure than the first time Dick wrapped him in his coils. It’s four on the wings, continuing their search for stray feathers out of line, and at least three around his body to pin him down. The tip of one waves at him mockingly.

“I’d love to, Dami’s _adorable_. He’s got the fluffiest tail, the cutest little ears and oh my gosh Tim, his hands have toe beans _._ _Actual toe beans._ They’re so squishy and soft and I could touch them all day–”

“Then why don’t you?” Tim interrupts. Across the way, almost hidden Dick catches the glimpse of leather in the back of the cave. There Bruce comforts his youngest with the heavy weight of wing wrapping almost well as his cape does. It’s a delicate situation. One they have to get used to animal instincts riding them hard. Like how Jason longs to sink his teeth in Damian’s neck and _shake_. Or where Dami prowls around Tim in tight circles, narrow slitted pupils looking for ways to clip wings; anything make the bird helpless and vulnerable. For now, B isolates Damian, creating distance away from the other two. After all birds and dogs don’t have beef. But just in case? Well there’s more than one reason why Tim is trapped in Dick’s lap.

“Well,” Dick looks mournfully at the lone tentacle he’s wrapped around his own waist. It hurts to move it. Plus the abundant red marks and scratches running up and down it stand out. “He has new claws too.”

Tim snickers. His ‘fowl’ mood erased.

“But Bat’s _adapt_ right? So I’ll just play with your feathers instead! They’re super pretty.”

Tim stops.

Dick's smile gets wider and Tim winces, slowly becoming resigned that he’s going to be _preened_ _and groomed to death._

This isn’t Dick’s first time around the block. Nor is it his second or third or _ninth_ time dealing with animal shenanigans...but he doesn’t mind it if it’s not the last.

They’ll adapt.  

 


End file.
